Wedding Survivor (9 page)

AT the DreamWorks studio, Jack and Eli met with the executive producer of the live-action period movie
Graham's Crossing
, which was set to start filming in October in Ireland. T.A. had been tapped to choreograph and coordinate the film's stunt work, and they were currently negotiating the terms of the agreement.

At the conclusion of the meeting, Jack asked Eli to wait—he had something he needed to do with the director, who happened to be in the building.

Eli was hanging out in the executive lobby, flipping through
Variety
, when he felt a familiar presence. He slowly looked up and idly wondered if he'd go his whole life feeling like he'd been kicked in the stomach every time he saw her. "Hello, Trish," he said, his voice gone depressingly soft.

"Hi, Eli," she said, smiling prettily, as if they were old acquaintances. As if they'd never been more than that.

She didn't look any different—still pretty and small and blond. Her clothing looked top dollar, but Eli would have been surprised if it hadn't—she was with Tom Malone—now, a successful actor on his way to the big time and one of a horde of multimillionaires in this town.

"What are you doing here?" she asked casually.

"Graham's Crossing."

"Oh," she said, flipping voluminous blond hair over her shoulder. "That's a Spielberg film, isn't it?" When Eli didn't answer, she smoothly moved on. "Guess what? Tom is backing a film for me to star in. We're shopping it around to the studios," she said very matter-of-factly, as if he could possibly care. As if it were typical for a star on his way up to give a vehicle to a B-list actress. But that's what Trish had expected, Eli supposed, when she started sleeping with Tom Malone.

Eli had worked a dozen of Tom's films, had even been on a couple of extreme-sport outings with him, and had always thought he was a good guy. But he'd never thought, never once suspected that Tom Malone was sleeping with his fiancee, Trish.

Trish, damn her
. He tried not to think of her. Ever. It was easier now, because it had been almost a year since she'd given him the good news that she was "seeing" someone else a week before the massive wedding mat
she
had insisted on. He hadn't wanted a huge production, but Trish had, and he had jumped into it with both feet because he adored her.

"That's great, Trish," he said, and tossed the rag aside and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. "Glad to hear things are working out for you."

"
Eli
," she purred, with a sympathetic smile. "Don't be that way. It's water under the bridge, and besides, we might end up working together someday."

He couldn't help himself; he laughed at that and stood up, towering over her at six feet two. "Don't think so," he said pleasantly. "I'll leave this town before I work with you again."

"Eli!" she exclaimed, smiling coyly at him with big blue eyes.

"Have a good life," he said, and walked away, leaving her gaping at him as if she couldn't believe he'd just walked away.

How could she expect anything less? She'd destroyed him a year ago, and that he could walk away now instead of crawling was a small victory for Eli. He'd never been in love with anyone before Trish—he'd been the kind of guy to flit from one girl to the next, moving on about the time they started getting serious. But with Trish, he'd fallen hard, like King Kong off the Empire State Building.

And with a year under his belt to obsess about it, Eli wondered several times how he could have missed her cheating, why he hadn't seen any signs, hadn't felt a little nudge deep inside him telling him the whole thing with Trish was off kilter. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd had the nudge and ignored it, and that was what made him such a putz. He'd been totally blindsided by Trish's announcement that night they were lying in bed together. Oh yeah, he'd been lying there thinking about how happy he was and wondering how many kids they'd have, and if they'd take after their mom or their dad.

Putz.

Sometimes, late at night when he was sitting on his deck in the Hollywood Hills and staring out over the valley, he would think back to the eighteen months he spent with that woman, remembering how incredible it felt to be in love, to feel so strongly about another person that you'd do anything for them. He wondered if he would ever be able to do that again.

He was fearful of it, truth be known. He was afraid of being King Putz again. He was afraid of that deep, soul-wrenching ache that went with it.

But it wasn't really a problem, Eli thought as he walked out into bright California sunshine, because he didn't meet a lot of women unless he was on a set, and after his experience with Trish, he treated starlets like lepers and just stayed the hell away. In fact, he couldn't think of a woman he'd met in the last several months.

Well. There was Marnie. But she didn't count.

So what if she had that sunny smile that could make a guy's balls tighten a little? It didn't mean anything. He'd just noticed, that was all, which meant he wasn't completely dead.

At the moment, it only served to remind him that he needed to call her and make sure Olivia hadn't gone off the deep end. While he waited for Jack, he flipped open his cell phone and dialed her number.

"Hello!"

He recognized the singing voice as Mamie's mother, with whom he was becoming very well acquainted. "Hi, Mrs. Banks. Eli McCain."

"Oh, hello, Eli! How are you today?" she trilled.

"Great. Is Marnie around?"

"Oh no, she's gone shopping. And you'll never guess with who!"

Oh,
Christ
. "Who?" he asked obligingly, knowing very well who.

"
Olivia Dagwood
!" her mom shrieked in a whisper. "She drove here
herself
and picked Marnie up!"

Great. Fabulous. He'd told Marnie that Olivia was not to drive. The paparazzi would be all over her, and if they found out who Marnie was, the whole thing would be blown. And he could just imagine what was going on with the so-called shopping trip, too. He didn't trust Olivia Dagwood as far as he could throw her, and given that she might weigh ninety-five pounds, that was pretty damn far.

"Does Marnie have a cell phone, Mrs. Banks?" he asked.

"No, she doesn't," her mother sighed. "I'm upset with her about that because
I
think she needs one, you know, because women can't be too careful these days. But what did she do? She cancelled her cell phone because she couldn't afford it. Now her father and I offered to pay for it, but she said oh no, she has her pride and—"

"Well if you hear from her, would you ask her to give me a call?" he politely interrupted. "She has my number."

"Oh sure, sure, I'll do that. Bye now!" she sang, and clicked off.

Eli frowned, punched the phone book on his cell, and retrieved Vince's number. Maybe Vince would have Olivia's cell phone number on him.

THEY were supposed to be brainstorming ideas for Olivia's wedding organizer. Marnie had sectioned it into budget, task timelines, vendors, themes, food, flowers, decorations, and photography. But Olivia was adamant about starting their talks with the wedding cake. Her idea for a wedding cake was pretty spectacular, too—six tiers and covered in edible flowers. Pretty fancy for a woman who really wasn't into weddings.

"Remember," Marnie said gently, "that we'll have to have it flown in."

"How much could it cost? And besides, have you ever been to a wedding that didn't have a
cake
?" Olivia had asked forlornly on the phone. "I can't even
think
about a wedding if I can't have cake."

That sounded very Marie Antoinette-ish, but Marnie figured Olivia had to be a little goofy to be such a great actress. Didn't all artists have their quirks? "Okay," she said slowly, her mind already racing ahead to how they'd have a wedding cake from some famous chef flown in.

"Listen, why don't we meet for coffee and make a list of potential chefs I would even consider," Olivia suggested brightly. Marnie was all over that idea and suggested a couple of low-profile places they could meet up. She was certain Eli would be proud of her for thinking low-profile.

But Olivia blew that by saying, "Oh, I'll just pick you up!"

Warning bells sounded in Mamie's brain—Eli had said

Olivia was not to drive and risk putting the paparazzi on their trail.

"Ah… why don't I come to you—"

"Nonsense! Anyway, I just got a brand new Lamborghini SUV and I am
dying
to take it out," Olivia said brightly. "Don't you want to ride in it?"

Well of course she did. Who
wouldn't
want to ride in a Lamborghini anything? Okay, maybe there was one stick-in-the mud who sprang to mind—she could see Eli in her mind's eye, and he didn't like it.

But she didn't say no.

When Olivia arrived, she did not slip into the neighborhood unnoticed. All the men on the street who were out tending their lawns stopped whatever they were doing to watch her SUV slide by, and even worse, Mom's book club—who Marnie was beginning to believe lived in the basement—were all in the living room.

She knew her ride had arrived when she heard the collective squeal down the hall as they all rushed out to meet Olivia Dagwood.

The megastar was extremely gracious, and even signed autographs for the ladies. Marnie actually had to push her way through them to get to the vehicle, and practically had to pull Linda Farrino out of the passenger seat.

Mrs. Farrino did not take kindly to be pulled out of the Lamborghini. She pushed Marnie back from the car a little and went toe to toe with her, her hands on her hips. "You better watch it, little miss," she said hotly. "Do you remember how I used to spank you?"

"Are you… are you threatening to
spank
me?" Marnie asked, aghast.

"Marnie, mind your manners!" Mom added hotly.

"Sorry, Mrs. Farrino," Marnie muttered, but quickly stepped around her and dove into the car and pulled the door shut before the woman could stick her overprocessed head inside once more.

Olivia smiled and waved, but hit the gas and tore away from the neighborhood crowd that was growing. "Why does anyone want an autograph?" she demanded of Marnie. "What good is it? I don't understand why people won't just leave me alone! Am I not allowed to drive on a street? Must I be accosted everywhere I go?"

Okay, that was asking a little much, Marnie thought, seeing as how Olivia was a huge movie star and was driving a Lamborghini, of all things, on a street right smack dab in the middle-class neighborhood of Hancock Park. These people crowded around the mailman, for heaven's sake!

Fortunately, Olivia seemed to get over it, and as they drove into Beverly Hills, she looked around at every stoplight wondering aloud when the paparazzi were going to jump out and start snapping photos.

"I can't
believe
they haven't picked me up yet," she muttered. "They really haven't picked me up yet," she repeated, frowning slightly as she drummed her fingers nervously against her wheel. "Oh well. It's only a matter of time."

Honestly, Marnie couldn't tell if Olivia was miffed that it was taking them so long to jump out or that they would eventually invade her privacy.

Olivia turned off Venice Boulevard and made a couple of more turns, then finally turned into a residential neighborhood and into the drive of a typical California bungalow. "I hope you don't mind," she said breezily to Mamie's puzzled look, "but I need to see my spiritual advisor something awful. Are you into kabbalah?"

"Ah… not really," Marnie said. "I'm not really sure what it is."

"No!" Olivia exclaimed, wide-eyed. "
Everyone
is into kabbalah. Come in and meet Ari. He's
wonderful
," she said with a dreamy smile.

"Ari?"

"My spiritual advisor," she said, and hopped out of the car. "He practices a new kind of kabbalah."

Marnie followed Olivia, and as she stepped inside, she stifled a gasp of surprise.

Inside looked like a fancy spa. There was a fountain in the middle of the front room, a cherub standing on one foot and spouting water. The floors were teak, the walls were painted a deep red, and the smell of incense wafted through the air. Light was provided by a set of very low-hung Chinese lanterns. There wasn't any furniture to speak of, just two teak stools in a minimalist decor.

A tall man with a close-cropped beard and a ponytail stepped through some beads hanging across a doorway. He was wearing a Hawaiian camp shirt, linen pants, and leather sandals, and when he saw Olivia, he smiled and held his arms wide. "Ah, my little raindrop," he said kindly, and Olivia dropped her bag on one stool and rushed across the room into his arms.

He engulfed her tiny body in a bear hug and held her tightly to him for a moment. Then he loosened his grip and glanced up at Marnie. "Where is your Lucy?"

"She has the day off," Olivia said. "This is my friend, Marnie."

"Ah," he said, putting a big hand on top of Olivia's shoulders. "Is Marnie a believer?"

"Not yet!" Olivia chirped.

Ari chuckled and let go of Olivia. He very languidly glided forward to stand before Marnie, then placed both hands on her shoulders and smiled. "Marnie. If you are not to yourself, then who is?"

She blinked. "Pardon?"

He laughed gently. "Little sunburst, that is what I shall call you, for you have the sun in your mien."

Marnie had no idea what that meant, much less what to say, so she gave him a very weak smile. He laughed again and turned around, walked to where Olivia was standing, and put his hand on her back. "Come, little raindrop, and let us see what life has in store for you today."

"Watch my stuff, will you, Marnie?" Olivia asked, but she was gazing up at her advisor like a puppy.

Marnie watched them disappear through the beads, then glanced around the room. She took the empty stool, picked up Olivia's bag, and balanced it in her lap, wondering why everything in this town had to make her feel so huge.

The ringing of Olivia's cell phone startled her out of her wits—it sounded ferocious in the bare room.